‘Gigi, you’re going to break his heart.’
Her mood changes. She says regretfully, ‘Yeah. I know. Can’t help that. Fern, there’s something I haven’t mentioned. Max has left Alexa.’
I try to get my mind around it. ‘Really?’ And now I understand. ‘Oh, Gigi. You and Max?’
‘Yeah. We’re going to give it a go. There’s always been something there, you know, this chemistry between us?’ She smiles slyly. ‘And it’s good for you, huh?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve seen the way you look at Dave. He’s decorative, he’s got that going for him. And he likes you, you know? He’s always Fern this, Fern that.’
I feel the blood rising to my face. ‘That has absolutely nothing to do with anything. I work with him, that’s all. He loves you.’
She tosses her head and her wild pink hair is as turbulent as a twilight thundercloud. I suddenly see her as the girl I went to school with, the girl who played tricks on me. She pokes me in the ribs with her elbow and grins. ‘I bet you’d love that chopping board,’ she says. ‘Chop-chop-chopping away for him. Good luck.’ She starts to walk away.
‘Hey! Gigi! You’ve forgotten the dog!’
Twirling back, she says, ‘It’s his dog, he can look after it.’
‘What shall I tell him?’
‘Tell him he’s a shit for running off.’
I try to dampen my anxiety as I look at the dog with its black shaggy fur and blond shaggy eyebrows. He’s sniffing the air around him, trying to track down the intriguing source of fear.
He looks at me and I glance away quickly in case he thinks I’m challenging him.
I wonder where David’s gone. Tell him he’s a shit for running off.
It’s true that he rushed off as soon as he got her call, no doubt about it. I’ve never seen anyone move so quickly. Poor guy. Well, I can understand it. I hate confrontation, too.
The dog barks and I jump out of my shoes clutching my heart.
Thankfully it’s David, coming back through the gateway the way he left, and he sees the dog. The dog wags its tail while David looks at it in a puzzled way as though he’s trying to remember where he’s seen it before.
For a moment I see his face tense and I think he’s going to turn around and walk out again, but he comes back to the stall and I pretend to be busy adjusting the clothing rail and making sure all the hangers face the right way. ‘Gigi came looking for you,’ I say eventually.
‘Did she say anything?’ He sounds hopeful and wary at the same time.
Times like this I wonder why anyone bothers with relationships. ‘She said you’re a shit for running away,’ I murmur apologetically. ‘Sorry about that.’
He’s bereft. ‘She’s leaving me, Fern.’
‘Yeah. Why didn’t you stay and talk to her?’
He scratches his forehead awkwardly. ‘I didn’t want to hear her say goodbye,’ he says and his voice is full of pain.
‘I’m sorry.’ I want to put my arms around him to comfort him, but the dog’s watching me. ‘Er … what are you going to do about the dog?’
‘Poor Duncan. She lavished her love on him, made him feel special, the luckiest dog on earth, and now she doesn’t want him. He’ll be cut up by this.’ His eyes film with tears. ‘Gigi was – is – the most exciting woman I’ve ever met. You know that charge you get when you see a person and all you can think about is them, and when you’re not with them you’re just wasting time until you can see them again?’
‘Yes!’
‘I had all that and now I’ve lost it.’
‘David—’
‘Don’t tell me that there’s still a chance. I hate that.’
‘I wasn’t going to.’ I was going to tell him he’d find someone else, but I change my mind. It’s not what he wants to hear. While he’s still in love with her I know there’s no hope for me.
Then Dinah turns up. She lets out a little cry and points her finger at David’s chair. ‘What’s that?’
‘David’s dog. Gigi brought it,’ I tell her, lowering my voice.
David rests his head in his hands. ‘She’s left me.’
All Dinah says in response to this bombshell is: ‘Interesting.’
He looks up irritably. ‘What’s that supposed to mean, “interesting”? What’s interesting about it?’
‘Poor you! But you see, she’s not interested in hurting you. If she wanted to hurt you she’d keep the dog, no? Don’t blame yourself. Some situations, there’s nothing you can do to change it.’
The dog has inched out from beneath David’s chair and it regards us with an innocent expression, as though he’s got nothing to do with it but he’s somehow sliding forward through no fault of his own. I get behind Dinah.
‘What make of dog is it supposed to be?’ she asks David suspiciously.
‘It’s got a bit of golden retriever in it,’ he says vaguely, taking one of his light boxes off the shelf.
‘Which bit, the eyebrows?’
I look at the light box in his hand. I wonder what he’s going to do now. I wonder if the whole idea of being compatible because of a star sign was just a way of persuading himself that he and Gigi were meant to be.
Moss comes to the front of the shop unpicking the seams of a gold Yves St Laurent blouse and kisses Dinah. ‘My bride!’ Against his dark trousers, the blouse pools like molten gold and catches the sunlight.
She fusses over him, picking a strand of gold thread off his sleeve and blowing the cut gold threads away into the breeze.
‘David!’ The squeak of trainers on cobbles makes me look up. It’s Alexa.
Moss touches his trilby.
‘David,’ she says, bursting into tears.
‘Alexa,’ he says.
Moss bundles the gold blouse under his arm. ‘Sit,’ he says to Alexa, pulling his chair towards her. ‘Sit before you fall.’
‘I don’t want to sit,’ she replies fiercely. ‘Have you seen Gigi?’ she asks David between sobs.
Other people’s emotions scare the life out of me even more than my own and I glance at David, who’s holding his light box and looking at her with a thousand-yard stare.
I don’t really know how long a person can cry for. It’s years since I’ve really cried. Even with Mick, I held it in. My head’s full of no-go areas, places I steer clear of.
Dinah makes two cups of tea and gives one to David. ‘Don’t upset yourself,’ she says to Alexa. ‘Take this.’
This time, she does sit down. She’s shaking as she takes the cup and she sips it, closing her eyes in the steam.
Alexa turns to David. ‘What am I going to do?’
‘I don’t know,’ he says, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment and pinching the bridge of his nose.
I have a sudden flash of inspiration. ‘I’ve got some really gorgeous dresses in your size, if you want to take a look.’
I realise immediately that it’s the wrong thing to say by the fact that she stops crying and looks at me open-mouthed.
‘I can’t believe you, Fern. You’re seeing my heartbreak as a sales opportunity?’
‘Sorry.’ It sounds really cringy, the way she says it. ‘I just thought it might make you feel better. It’ll protect you, like wearing a hazmat suit. Reinvent yourself!’
She blows her nose irritably. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Reinvent yourself as someone unobtainable and strong; someone Max can’t have.’ Suddenly, I’m sounding like an expert on a subject I don’t really know much about. Don’t ask me where all this insight is suddenly coming from, but one thing I’ve learnt about life is you’ve got to have some armour in place against slings and arrows, otherwise it’s easier just to lie down and give up.
Alexa has replaced her grief with a different emotion entirely: indignation. ‘And that’s it? That’s your cure for the fact he’s smashed my life to bits? I should buy myself something new?’
‘That’s not exactly what I was—’
David’s phone pings. He looks up at me in despair. ‘Fern, can you take over the shop for me?’
‘Sure.’
‘Why, what’s happening?’ Alexa asks in alarm, getting to her feet.
David rakes his fingers through his hair. ‘Gigi’s moving out. Come on, Duncan. We’re going home.’
The dog comes out from under the chair and follows him placidly through the market.
Alexa hands the cup to me and hurries after him.
Moss looks at me over his glasses with his bushy eyebrows raised and calmly goes back to unpicking the seams of the gold blouse.
Dinah puts her hand on my shoulder. She’s looking at me strangely, as if she pities me. ‘What you said to Alexa, about reinventing yourself. This is something you like to do, isn’t it?’
‘Of course. That’s the whole point of fashion, isn’t it? You choose a different look depending on who you want to be. Take Wallis Simpson, for instance. She cultivated her sense of style deliberately because her clothes made her look beautiful.’
‘It’s true, she gave the impression of being beautiful without having the face for it.’
‘Exactly!’ I say happily, feeling that I’ve made my point. But the truth is, I can’t stop thinking about Alexa’s scorn when she said I was trivial.
Nor David’s expression when she said it.
LOT 18
Full-length, psychedelic-print, hippy-style silk jersey dress, late Sixties, blue/purple colour tones, Pucci, size 38/10.
This evening, as I’m slobbing around in my tracksuit bottoms and an oversized sweater, Lucy comes down full of excitement to see if I’ve seen the coverage of the film premiere on the local news, because if not, she’s taped it, and as I haven’t, we go up to hers to watch it over a bottle of wine.
She points the remote and cunningly, against the backdrop of the crowds gathered at the base of the IMAX, there’s Lucy, actually on the red carpet wearing – ta-da! – a Fern Banks Vintage piece. The teal really shines out in the spotlights. She’s posing with her hand on her hip, just behind the actress Keira Knightley.
‘You look amazing, Lucy. Star quality! You look as good as she does. Pity she had to go and stand practically right in front of you.’
‘Yes, but watch – watch – see? Did you see that? When she turns you can see my whole head, and a sleeve. That’s at least five seconds of my fifteen minutes of fame, don’t you think?’
‘At least that.’
‘It was such fun! Except my date from Universal is never taking me anywhere with him again because when I talked to Holly Willoughby, you know, the presenter? I spilled my drink on her shoe.’
‘Lucy! Was she angry?’
‘No, she was fine; once I picked the mint leaves off. Even better, she asked me where I got my dress and I gave her one of your cards. I could get used to that kind of lifestyle, you know,’ Lucy says, all reflective. ‘Free drinks all night. Didn’t get invited to the after-party, though. My date gave me the slip.’
‘If you get a part in a film, they’ll be begging you to go to the after-party.’
‘I know! I expect it’ll be compulsory!’
The doorbell rings. Lucy goes to answer it and comes back wide-eyed and hopping around on the spot with excitement. ‘It’s him! The chopping-board king! At the door!’
‘What? How?’
‘Who cares how?’ she asks, pulling me off the sofa. ‘Go and talk to him!’
I put down my glass of wine and it’s true, David’s at the door looking uncharacteristically crumpled in a stripy short-sleeved shirt and frayed jeans.
‘Fern?’ he says, peering at me in the dark. He’s slightly drunk.
Argh! I can’t believe he’s caught me in my tracksuit bottoms. ‘How did you find me? I don’t even live here – I actually live in the flat downstairs.’
David’s rummaging in his pockets for something. He takes out a piece of newspaper and unfolds it laboriously, with great care. It’s the picture from the Camden New Journal of Lucy and me after the fire. ‘See this picture of you, Fern?’ he says. ‘See the door? It’s got your house number on it.’ He looks pleased with himself.
I’m surprised and deeply touched he’s kept it. ‘Well done, Sherlock,’ I say. ‘Come on, let’s go down to mine.’
Lucy’s hovering in the background, giving me the thumbs-up and then doing the ‘call me’ hand signal with her thumb and little finger.
Back in my flat, I put David on the sofa and dash to the bedroom to do a quick change into a 1960s multicoloured Pucci maxidress. I go back into the kitchen, pour two glasses of wine and get out the Marmite thins.
By the time I’ve arranged them in a fan shape, he’s sitting on the sofa with his elbows on his knees. He takes the glass and knocks the wine back in one. He’s suffering the thirst of someone who’s aiming for oblivion.
I fetch the bottle and put the plate of biscuits between us, feeling absolutely surreal that he’s sitting on my sofa. I feel very protective of him, both touched that he kept the cutting from the paper and impressed that he used it to track me down. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Grim,’ he says. He takes a biscuit absent-mindedly and points at me with it. ‘You know what I think, Fern? I think the house party was a way of being with Max for the weekend,’ he says. ‘That’s why she was so happy.’ He breathes in hard. ‘She was never happy just with me.’
My heart’s breaking for him. ‘In that case, she’s crazy.’
He looks up at me hopefully. ‘Do you think so?’
‘Absolutely,’ I say firmly.
He eats the biscuit and ponders for a few moments, rubbing the crease between his eyebrows. ‘Fern, you’ve known her longer than I have – how can I be the man she wants?’
‘Don’t think like that. You can only be yourself.’
‘I don’t want to be myself. I’m going to reinvent myself. You’ve got to help me. You told me I could be anyone I want,’ he says accusingly. ‘You said I could be a dolphin in a cow costume.’
‘Eh? Did I?’ I do vaguely remember saying that. ‘I didn’t mean you specifically, I meant people in general. I can’t imagine you being anyone other than you.’
‘I want to be a dolphin.’
‘Don’t think like that.’
‘I want to wear a hazmat suit, like Alexa. I want to protect myself.’
Hearing my own words said back to me makes me cringe. I think of Alexa saying: Do you know how trivial you sound? ‘Listen, the point is, it’ll get better, I promise. I’ve been through it myself.’
‘Yes, you have. With what’s-his-name.’ He turns to look at me carefully. ‘I want to be like you. You told yourself it’s fine, it wasn’t serious anyway.’
I’d forgotten I’d said that. How much more has he memorised? ‘The point is, I’m over it now. And this is what I think about Mick – if we’d loved each other, a long pleated skirt and a tie-neck blouse wouldn’t have mattered to either of us, would they?’
He doesn’t reply. His head is bent. The Pucci dress is strangely slippery. It’s making me slide down the sofa. I’m level with his ear. It’s a nice ear. In the gap under his stripy collar I can see the bone of his spine. I want to kiss it.
He says sharply, ‘I know what you’re thinking.’
I sit up again, alarmed that I’m being so obvious. ‘What?’
‘You’re thinking about the chopping board.’
‘No! Not at all! Well – yes,’ I lie.
‘You’re right. If I’d loved her, I wouldn’t have given it to her. And if she loved me, it wouldn’t have mattered.’ He narrows his eyes and moves closer to me as if he’s trying to get me in better focus. His gaze is intense. ‘See, Fern, when we first met, I thought Gigi wanted the same things, a house, children, a good work-life balance. But you know what, Fern? She didn’t really want them. She liked playing with the idea of them, that’s all. It was something
different, something new.’ He slumps back on the sofa, spilling wine on his jeans, and his mood turns gloomy again. ‘Or maybe she does want them, just not with me. If I’d known her at all, I wouldn’t have taken her advice to follow my dream and leave my well-paid job.’
‘Why did you?’
He looks serious. ‘I planned it all well in advance. I wanted to impress her with my spontaneity.’
‘That’s funny.’ I giggle then reach for the bottle and top our glasses up, the attentive host. ‘Do you regret it now?’
This is where he’s supposed to say, No, because I met you.
He doesn’t say it. He says, ‘Sometimes. Do you?’
‘Miss my well-paid job?’ And I think, No. Because I met you.
But I don’t say it, either. I smile ruefully. ‘Yes. I didn’t realise how easy it was, going into work, having a regular income. I still get the same excitement and satisfaction now, but the risks worry me. I keep thinking about the weather, wondering what’s going to happen when it’s autumn, when it starts getting cold and the days are short. That kind of thing.’ I slump back. ‘No point in worrying. We won’t know until it happens.’
‘Can I tell you something, Fern?’
‘Yes.’
‘Buddha said, “Your worst enemy cannot harm you as much as your own unguarded thoughts.” Onwards!’ he says boldly, clinking his glass against mine. But he doesn’t go much further onwards, because right then his thoughts snap back to Gigi. ‘Fern, did she ever love me?’
‘Of course she did! How could she not help loving you? It’s just – she’s impulsive. She doesn’t think of the consequences. She was like that at school. I think even the teachers were a bit nervous of her.’ This new information about his beloved brightens him for a moment. ‘Really?’
‘So don’t blame yourself. And, of course, opposites attract and all that.’
‘I never imagined it would end like this.’
It’s the most painful realisation in the world that the person you most love and want to be loved by can’t do it.
He looks at me. ‘Thanks for listening. You’re easy to talk to, Fern.’
A Random Act of Kindness Page 22
